Saturday, October 3, 2015

In a world shrouded by soot and smoke, young Makarria has literally been forbidden to dream.

Legend has foretold the demise of Emperor Thedric Guderian at the hands of a sorceress with royal blood, and the Emperor has made it his legacy to stamp out all magic from the Sargothian Empire in favor of primitive coal fired smelters and steam powered machines. When Guderian’s minions discover a Dreamwielder on a seaside farmstead, a chain of events forces Guderian’s new threat—the young Makarria—to flee from her home and embark upon an epic journey where her path intertwines with that of Princess Taera, her headstrong brother, Prince Caile, and the northman Siegbjorn, who captains a night-flying airship.

Dogging their every step is the part-wolf, part-raven sorcerer, Wulfram, and Emperor Guderian himself, a man who has the ability to stint magic and a vision to create a world where the laws of nature are beholden to men and machines. Only by learning to control the power she wields can Makarria save her newfound companions and stop the Emperor from irreversibly exterminating both the magic in humans and their bond with nature.

DREAMWIELDER will be available in eBook and print editions on SEPTEMBER 29, 2015.

“Hold on, what do you mean you
know what to do?” Caile started to say, but Makarria ignored him and sprinted
off through the tunnel toward the city before the words were halfway out of his
mouth. “Get back here!” Caile yelled, but Makarria paid him no heed.

Caile snatched up his weapons
with a curse and ran off in the direction of Issborg. At the edge of the cavern
city, he caught sight of Makarria nearly halfway to the other side—the only
movement in the entire city. The Snjaer Firan were hidden away in their
homes and had closed the shutters over every window. Only the blue daylight
protruding through the glacier aboe illuminated the city. Damn it all, she’s
fast, Caile swore inwardly as he chased after Makarria. When he finally
caught up to her at the far end of the city he grabbed her shoulder and dragged
her to a halt, heavily winded.

“I’m not here to stop you. I’m
here to help. Now just slow down for moment and tell me what it is you think
you’re going to do that a sorceresses can’t.”

They were getting close to the
chambers beyond the city now and Makarria slowed to a brisk walk. “I need to
get Kadar into one of the chambers.”

“All right, that’s a start. What
chambers?”

“A few hundred yards down the
corridor on the right, there’s a bunch of caves with doors.”

“Does it matter which one we get
him into?”

“No.”

“All right,” he said again. “And
what do we do after that?”

“Then I do my work. Quiet now.
We’re getting close.”

Caile bristled at being shushed.
“Slow down then,” he whispered. “We don’t want to rush headlong into
something.”

As if on cue, a heavy concussion
echoed through the cavern.

“I’ve heard that sound before,”
Caile whispered. “That’s sorcerers fighting.” He left his sword sheathed and
instead strung his bow and notched an arrow, remembering what Talitha had told
him about trying to kill sorcerers. Surprise them. Be unpredictable.

The sound of concussions and
bellowing flames grew louder and more frequent as they continued on, and before
long they could hear voices, although, they could not make out the words.
Talitha’s indecipherable shouts were little more than guttural moans, while
Kadar’s heavily accented words were taunting in their tone. Suddenly, dark
figures appeared before them, and Caile almost let loose his arrow but luckily
held it back at the last moment, realizing it was the Snjaer Firan
warriors who had accompanied Talitha. There were only four of them, and they
all huddled close to the wall at their right.

“We’re here to help,” Makarria
whispered when one of them turned back to see her and Caile approaching.
“Where’s Kadar?”

“Up there,” the man said with
effort, and Makarria and Caile saw that he was badly burned on one side of his
face. “Talitha is trapped on the far side, below the glacier.”

“Where’s the rest of your men?”
Caile asked. “I thought there were twelve of you?”

“There were.”

Caile pursed his lips and pushed
his way forward past the four men to peer farther down the corridor. A torrent
of flames spat forward in the distance, and for a brief moment Caile could make
out Talitha’s form huddled behind a stalagmite twenty yards ahead and Kadar a
little farther beyond her. Then the flames were gone and he saw only shadows
again. Caile stepped back safely out of sight. “He’s got her cornered, and he’s
too far away for me to get a clean look at him,” he whispered to Makarria. “How
is it you think we’re going to get him into one of those caves?”

“I’ll get him into the open,”
Makarria said. “When I yell, start shooting.”

“I don’t see how—” Caile started
to say, but before he could get the rest of the sentence out Makarria strode
forward into the middle of the corridor.

“Kadar!” Makarria yelled. “Kadar!
It’s me, Makarria. Stop, please.”

“Makarria, no, get back,”
Talitha’s voice rang out.

Makarria ignored her and walked
on, fear in her belly. He won’t risk killing you—you’re too important to
him, she told herself, but now that she was exposed, she wasn’t so certain.

Kadar peered out from his hiding
spot and began laughing an oily, rodent-like laugh. “It is all right, Makarria.
Yes, come to me. I would not hurt you.”

“Leave the woman alone,” Makarria
said. “And then you can have me.” She stopped parallel to the first of the
caves on the right. She saw in front of her the smoldering bodies of the slain Snjaer
Firan warriors but quickly averted her eyes and kept her attention solely
on Kadar.

“But I can kill her and still
take you,” Kadar said.

“Not if I’m in the way, you
can’t,” Makarria retorted, and she stepped forward to place herself firmly in
the path between the two sorcerers. “Go,” she said, looking back toward
Talitha.

“Are you mad?” Talitha hissed.
“You’ll be killed.”

“Just go,” Makarria told her.
“Trust me.”

In the distance, Kadar laughed
again. “Go on. Let the little girl save you for now.”

“Go,” Makarria said again.

Talitha paused for a moment
longer, then sprang from behind the stalagmite and scurried back into the cavern
behind Makarria toward the others.

“My end of the bargain is met
now,” Kadar said. “Now it is your turn. Come to me.”

“I’m right here. Come get me.”

Kadar stepped forward from his
hiding spot, and when he spoke there was menace in his voice. “What is it you
hope to accomplish, girl? Your dream powers are weak and unhoned still. I could
burn you to ash or bring that ice crashing down upon your head before you even
close your eyes, let alone dream.”

“Not if you want me to kill the
Emperor, you can’t.”

Kadar smiled and his black teeth
glimmered as he slowly stepped forward. “You are a clever girl. Too clever for
your own good.”

He was almost upon her now. She
waited one breath longer, then turned and sprinted away. “Now!” she screamed.

Caile stepped out into the
corridor and loosed his arrow. It whizzed by Makarria’s ear, and Kadar leapt to
the side, just narrowly dodging the projectile. He raised his hands to strike
back, but Makarria had changed her course to run right for Caile, blocking
Kadar’s line of sight. Caile fired another arrow over the top of Makarria, and
this time Kadar had no choice but to jump for cover in the nearest of the
chambers.

“He’s in!” Caile yelled, notching
another arrow.

Makarria skidded to a halt and
plopped down on her butt, facing back toward the chamber. “Keep him in there,”
she said breathlessly and closed her eyes.

“I only have four arrows
left—move fast,” Caile yelled, but Makarria was already halfway in her
trance...

AUTHOR BIO:

Garrett Calcaterra is author of the epic fantasy novel DREAMWIELDER, available from Diversion Books. In addition, he is author of the horror collection UMBRAL VISIONS, and co-author of the mosaic fantasy novel THE ROADS TO BALDAIRN MOTTE. His humor titles include CODE BROWN and A GOOD BREW IS HARD TO FIND. When not writing, Garrett enjoys hiking with his two dogs and quaffing good beer. Learn more at www.garrettcalcaterra.com

Friday, October 2, 2015

BEGIN AGAIN tells the story of Paulina Ludzecky who, since her husband died three years ago, runs a contracting business with her twin, Antonia. She’s ready to dip her toes in romance, when she meets Adam Armstrong, the architect on the new music hall her company is building.

For Adam, opposites attract and he’s drawn to this no-nonsense, down-to-earth girl next door. She’s equally interested in him though he’s too different from her to settle down with. But alpha male Adam has other plans for Paulina and isn’t about to let her go, even when Paulina has trouble with committing to him. Sex, yes! Love, no! This second chance at love story will tug on your heartstrings.

Available for purchase at

Excerpt

Prologue

The Ludzecky family was well acquainted with tragedy, but
none as horrific as this one.

The matriarch, Donuta Ludzecky, affectionately known as Matka,
sat in the front pew of a Catholic church next to her best friend, Rosie
Pettrone. The woman had suffered the worst loss any mother could have visited
on her—losing a child or, in this case, losing two. Twin boys. Twenty-eight
years old. The driver of a truck had barreled through a red light and crumpled
the front of the car. The boys were killed instantly. They had been married to
Paulina and Antonia, Donuta’s two daughters. Like the good Polish woman that
she was, Donuta sat stalwart, holding back any display of her own emotions. Of
course, she suffered with and for her friend. But she also could not help
thinking of the effect this obscene event would have on her eight children.

Her gaze traveled first to her twin girls, dressed in black,
shoulders hunched, sitting on either side of Rosie. Antonia had dissolved into
tears the moment they had walked into church and had not stopped crying. Lukasz
had to take care of her two-year-old son, who cried into his uncle’s chest.
Paulina, stronger both physically and emotionally than Nia, had slid her arms
around her boys, and remained stone-faced. The crying would come later for her,
Donuta knew. And their lives would never be the same without their men. Donuta
had learned that fact from the death of her own husband when she was in her
forties.

Her gaze landed on Lukasz. He and his wife, Kelsey, had come
down from Binghamton after the accident happened. Their near-perfect lives had
been hard-won, and now their happiness would be shadowed by their sisters’
trauma. And Lukasz would suffer over living four hours away from the family.
Next in age, Caterina was content as a mother, working in linguistics for the
Secret Service, very much in love with her husband Aidan O’Neil. She would want
to protect the girls, which would be impossible. She had already made plans to
stay in Queens with them for three weeks.

Ana, the third oldest, had helped take care of Donuta’s
other children, especially when more babies had come along and Donuta was in
the hospital, giving birth or, twice, with exhaustion. Though Ana was happily
married with one child, she would smother her twin sisters, trying to make
things right for them.

Magdalena, a year younger than Ana, would take over the
logistics. A successful businesswoman, she would try to organize, strategize
and “fix” whatever she could for her sisters. She did not yet know there was no
fixing tragedy, that the girls needed to simply grieve, but Magdalena believed
she could do anything she set her mind to.

And then there was Sofia, who had had tragedy of her own. At
sixteen, she had been diagnosed with leukemia. The treatment had forced her to
give up her dancing aspirations. This one would go into herself unless someone
stopped her. Donuta hoped her quiet daughter, fragile, thin as a willow, could
withstand the sorrow that had come their way.

And last was Elizabeita. Who knew what the baby of the
family would do? Bright enough to be a Rhodes Scholar and earn two degrees at
Oxford, pretty enough to be a model and bold enough to sky dive and jump off
cliffs, the girl had been impossible to control all her life. Donuta worried
about her. How would this one handle the overwhelming grief?

When the priest asked them to stand, Donuta chided herself.
She was thinking about her family’s welfare, and here was poor Rosie, who had
suffered such loss. However, the fact remained: Donuta would be a friend in
every way, but her role as Matka would make her priority her children,
as always.

From the way Adam looked at her when they were seated on the
bench, Paulina knew he was going to kiss her, so she tried to leave the
backyard. But once he’d stopped her, there was no escaping—because she didn’t
want to be anywhere else. His mouth touched hers lightly, brushed over her
lips, and she savored his taste—coffee and a hint of peppermint, which was soon
eclipsed by the essence of him filling her head. After a few seconds, he slid
his arms around her and drew her close. She went easily, willingly and fell
deeper into the kiss. His tongue explored her mouth, and she allowed it,

welcomed it, returned it. His body
aligned perfectly with hers, and he pressed his hips in close. He was hard, and
she was going damp, and she wanted to weep with the sensation. She missed the
scent of a man, his flesh and bones, his unyielding frame. She inhaled him,
crooked her head so he could get better access.

She had no idea how long the embrace went on. All she knew
was that at some point, they were both stepping back, breathing hard, staring
at each other.

“Well!” he said, raking his hand through his hair. She took
pleasure in his loss of composure and consequently wasn’t embarrassed by hers.
“That was unexpected.” “Really? You started it.”

“That’s not what I mean.” He arched a brow. “Besides, you
wanted it.”

“I’m not denying that.”

“What I meant was, the contact was intense. Right away,
without warning. I’m shocked by my reaction.”

Her hand touched her lips as she savored his taste, still on
her. “I enjoyed it. But if you didn’t, that’s okay.” Once more, she started
away. She didn’t have time for games, and if he was rebuffing her again, she
didn’t want to stick around and get her feelings hurt.

“Hold on!” This time he caught her hand, pulled her around
and didn’t let go. “Why do you keep running away?”

She took in a deep breath. “I guess because I can’t read
you. You flirted, asked in an email if we should meet, then said never mind.”

“I did.”

No hedging. No denial. She liked that. “Why?”

“Because I wasn’t sure we should…do anything like this.”

“Adam, it was only a kiss.”

His expression said it was much more than that.

“But I liked it,” she continued. “Still, don’t worry. I’m
not asking you for anything.”

Jamming his hands in his pockets, he rocked back on his
heels. “What if I want something?”

“Damn it, Adam, just say what you mean. What you want. I
don’t have time for or interest in being coy.”

“Let’s go out.”

She watched him.

“You’ve dated since your husband died, right?”

“No, but recently I made a decision that I wanted to get
into the…the swing of things.

I’m seeing someone tonight for supper and a movie.”

His brows knit together. “Is it serious?”

“I met him on first base.”

“Excuse me?”

She laughed at her expression. “At a softball game. I got a
hit, and he…never mind all that.”

“So, you’re a free agent, so to speak.”

And would probably
stay one. But she’d like to see this man. “I am, but I’m not interested in
anything serious. Just some fun.” Some hot sex. She didn’t say that
aloud, thank God. Though she knew one thing: she was attracted to him big-time.

“Have dinner with me
this weekend.”

“Sofia’s taking the
boys on Sunday for the day. I could do an early dinner.”

“All right. I’ll pick
you up at five.” He added, “Wear something nice, but no ball gowns.”

Did he think he had to tell her what to wear? What was all
that about? Maybe it was nothing. She just wasn’t used to this dating scene.
Had never really been in it. He was probably being thoughtful.

“Hey, Paulie, you
back here?” Frank’s voice came from the end of the yard.

She said, “I have to
go.”

He grasped her arm
again. “Would you wear your hair down Sunday?”

“Maybe. Let’s wait
and see.”

Primary Colors (Ludzecky Sisters Series, #2)by Kathryn ShayBlurb:
In PRIMARY COLORS, Nia Ludzecky Pettrone is stuck in her grief and can’t find a way out of her sorrow over the untimely death of her beloved husband. Then she meets famous modern artist Rafe Castle, and she’s intrigued by his gentle demeanor and lack of arrogance. When he shows interest in giving her son the confidence and skills to nurture his budding art talent, she starts falling for him. Still, she finds it hard to leave the past behind and embrace love after loss.

Rafe is definitely interested in a relationship with Nia. If he has his way, she’ll come to love him and he vows to be patient. But when she rejects him in the most elemental of ways, can he control the comparison to past hurts she resurrects for him?

Available for purchase at

Excerpt

“And
the winner of the first grade prize for Excellence in Art is Salvador
Pettrone.”

Simultaneously, Ben and Tommy jumped
up, fists in the air. “Yes!”

Sal
sat demurely in his little first grade chair and blushed.

From the gathering of parents and
guests off to the side, Nia watched her son, wishing he was outgoing like his
cousins but loving him to pieces anyway.

“Sal.”
The deep male voice of the man at the microphone was filled with excitement.
“Come up and get your prize.”

She’d
been so happy all summer, now that her relationship with Adam was blossoming. They’d
met when their company, Pettrone and Ludzecky Builders, had gotten the bid on a
music hall that he’d designed. Surprisingly, Nia had taken a liking to the man
despite the fact that he lived in a different world from the family. It seemed
that every time she saw him and Paulina together, they were closer. And he’d
treated Sal just like Paulina’s boys—kind and gentle, always calm.

Making
his way to the front, Sal stood before Rafe Castle, looking up and now smiling
broadly. Nia had heard a lot about the man who’d come to Benjamin Franklin
Elementary School as an artist in residence for two weeks. She’d voted at the
PTA meeting for him to be chosen because his artwork seemed so alive. Sal
talked about him often…

Mom,
he said I got talent.

Mom,
he used my picture as an example.

Mom,
he loves my work.

She’d been so grateful to the artist
for helping bring her son out of his shell, for making him feel good about
himself, even before she’d gotten an email from him: Dear Mrs. Pettrone, Your son Sal is one of the most talented artists of
a young age I’ve ever seen. After the Art Fair, can we talk?

Responding in the affirmative, Nia
was thrilled, and anxious to hear what he had to say.

The grades were separated in the
large gym, and Sal watched as the other winners were awarded their prizes. And
he cheered heartily for them. He’s such a
nice kid, she thought for the hundredth time. Peter would have been so
proud. Though her husband had been a jock, he’d have celebrated his son’s
success in art, where Sal had inexplicably shown both interest and talent. It
had been one of the many things she’d loved about Peter. Sometimes, at events
like this, the hole in her heart became a gaping chasm and she struggled
against the emotion.

When the formal part of the presentation
was over, Rafe said, “Now mingle, everybody. See what stellar work your
classmates have done.” Displays of student art lined the walls. “And parents,
please browse, too. Congratulations to them all.”

The groups disbanded, and three
little dark-haired, dark-eyed boys ran to where the Ludzecky family had
gathered.

Sal
threw himself into Nia’s arms. “Mommy, I won!”

“I know, sweetheart.
Congratulations.”

Sneaking around his mother, Ben went
up to Adam and gave him a high-five. “We didn’t win. Mom told us last night we
have other talents.”

“But we’re glad Sal won,” Tommy put
in. “I like his drawings.”

Adam ruffled Sal’s hair. “We’re
happy for you, kid.”

Nia
glanced up to see Rafe Castle approaching them. Before he greeted any of them,
he knelt down so he was eye-level with Sal. How
thoughtful. “You did good, Salvador. Just like your namesake.”

“What’s a namesake?” Ben asked.

Sal announced proudly, “Who you’re
named after.”

“Our Uncle Salvador?”

A male chuckle from the artist.
“Nope. I told him I bet he has roots going back to Salvador Dali, the famous
twentieth-century artist.”

“Like you, Rafe.” Nia noticed Sal
used his first name. “You said maybe you got roots to…who was it?”

Nia cleared her throat. Though she’d
seen pictures of him online since the school chose him for this position, his
physical presence was daunting. Those navy eyes focused on her, increasing
their effect. “Yes, I’m Sal’s mother.”

“You’re son’s very talented.”

“So you said.”

“Rafe?”

Castle’s brows rose. “Adam? Hello.”

“You know my teacher, Adam?” Sal
asked.

“We’ve met. And I saw his show at
the Mitchell Gallery. I bought The Dragon
Within. His work is amazing. So individualistic.”

“What does that mean?” Ben wanted to
know.

“That everybody gets something
different out of it,” Adam explained.

Her sister held out her hand. “I’m
Paulina Pettrone.”

When he got a look at Paulina, Rafe
startled. “Wow, two of you? How do the men in the world stand it when you’re
together?”

“Excuse me?” This from Nia.

“You must bowl them over.”

Paulina rolled her eyes. “It was a
compliment, Nia. Say thanks.” She focused on the boys. “Let’s go see
everybody’s art before we have to leave. Nia, take your time in getting back to
work. No rush.”

“Could Sal go with you?” Rafe asked.
“I’d like to speak to Mrs. Pettrone in private.”

Nia stepped back.

“It’s all positive stuff.”

The four of them left, and Nia
folded her arms across her chest, watching Rafe Castle. His dark hair was long
and curly, and he carried himself in the confident, masculine way that men who looked
like him seemed to have. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Salvador.”

“I appreciated your letter.”

“I meant every word, and more. Did
you notice how his paintings and drawings evolved the last two weeks?”

“Yes, I did. Some got more
realistic. Some more abstract. I liked the latter best.”

His
eyes glistened like sapphires, as if she’d said the right thing. “I have a
proposal for you. I’d like to continue working with Sal. Free of charge.”

“Why on earth would you do that?
Adam said you were hot.”

He winked at her. “I am.”

“Oh, I meant your reputation. But
back to Sal.”

“He’s a prodigy. And that kind of
talent needs to be cultivated.”

Feeling guilt take root inside her,
she sighed. “I’ve thought about getting him art lessons, but we’re so busy…”

“I’ll come to your house. And yes,
I’d expect an adult to supervise us, so you’d have to arrange that.”

“We live with my mother and sister.
It wouldn’t be too hard to get coverage.” She raised her chin. “But I insist I
pay.”

“Then I retract the offer.”

“What?”

“I won’t take your money.”

“Mr. Castle, I might be a widow, but
we have enough funds to live on.”

As
he walked away, Nia stared at his long male stride. And okay, his butt, encased
in soft denim, and his broad shoulders in a chamois shirt. But that wasn’t the
matter at hand. Now, once again, she’d have to make the right choice for her
child alone. She wished Peter was here to help with that and a million other
things. Which was enough to worry about. But more pressing was the issue that
Nia had not gotten beyond her grief enough to move on like Paulina had and that
was as big an issue as the solo responsibility she now had.

Excerpt #2

“I
remember.” When he didn’t say more, she batted her eyes like Elizabeita did
when she flirted. “Mr. Castle, are you asking me to come up and see your
etchings?” The old line for seduction.

“Well, Ms. Pettrone, my intention
was more honorable until you said that, but I’m up for anything.”

Was she? Right now, Nia felt like
she was.

He watched her. When she didn’t
move, he took her hand. “Come up to my place. I do want to show you something.”

They walked faster down the two
blocks, still holding hands. Once inside his building, they took the elevator
in silence and Rafe unlocked the door to his loft.

Nia entered first. “I’m still
stunned by how big this place is.”

“I don’t need all this space, but
Jonas loved the openness.”

“It suits you, Rafe.”

He turned to her. “Why is that?”

“You’re larger than life and not
because you’re famous. It’s your personality. You’re joie de vivre. You live in
primary colors.” And her tones ran from cream to beige and often times gray.

“What a nice way to put it. Jonas
said I take pleasure in everything.”

“After a difficult childhood, that’s
amazing.” He was amazing.

“Now I’m embarrassed.”

Taking her hand, he tugged her to
the studio. Several easels stood guard around the room. Two canvases were
started. Another was covered with a cloth, and he crossed to it. “Stand about
five feet away. Face the other side of the room.”

“Why?”

“I’m going to show you something I
did the night you were at my loft. But I want to see your face when you first get
a look at it.”

Nia turned to the collection on the
opposite wall. The easels there sported scarlets and yellows, peacock blue and
pinks.

Rustling, scraping. Then, “Okay, turn
around.”

Pivoting back, Nia gasped. Oh, my God. She almost couldn’t take it
in. Slowly, she walked closer to the canvas. Studied the way the sky gave way
to her image—which was…unbelievable. Every feature was right. And every feature
was wrong. He’d drawn her as a sensual siren, floating out of the clouds. The
glint in her eyes was unfamiliar.

“I don’t understand. This isn’t me,
in so many ways.”

“It’s how I see you, I guess.”

“Rafe, this woman is so…sensual.
Sexy. So not me.”

“I think it is. Or had been. Or
might be.” He stepped closer, cupped her jaw. “Let me prove that to you, Nia.”

Nia’s first instinct was to run.
Fast and far away. Her heart raced, and her palms began to sweat. But she
glanced at the painting again, and suddenly, she knew she wasn’t going to leave.
So she moved closer and said, “Take me to bed, Rafael.”

Risky Business (Ludzecky Sisters Series #3)by Kathryn ShayBlurb:
Magdalena Ludzecky is a career woman extraordinaire. A child prodigy, she’s worked her way into a successful private equity firm by the time she was twenty-four. Seven years later, she’s still the gentle, good-hearted sister who hasn’t forgotten her roots, but in business she’s a force to be reckoned with. She’s a woman who has everything, including Logan Price, her coworker and her best friend outside of the family. They support each other through tragedy and loss, vacation together and make million dollar deals together.

But suddenly, they find attraction growing between them. And no, they both think, this can’t happen! They like the status quo. An office romance is unthinkable. It doesn’t seem to be up to them, though, as fate intervenes and brings them together as lovers. Yet fate can be cruel, too, and pulls them apart when Logan’s circumstances change dramatically. Does this friends to lovers romance have a chance or are Logan and Magdalena going to lose each other forever?

Available for purchase at

Excerpt

“I think we have what we need for our due
diligence, Mr. Holland.” Magdalena smiled graciously at the owner of The
Natural Life stores. “I hope you’re as excited as we are about the potential
investment in your company by Price and Associates.” Magdalena had joined the
private-equity after graduate school.

The owner held her gaze. “Mostly, it
feels like I’m handing my first born off to someone else to raise.”

She gave him a sympathetic look.
“Most of the companies we do business with have that initial reaction. Maybe
you could look at it as sending your child off to school, where others can
invest their time, energy and money into him.”

Carter Holland nodded. “So, where do
we go from here?”

“Price and Associates analyze all the
documents and visit more stores.”

Logan
sat forward. “Ms. Ludzecky and I are both operational analysts.” The Power Team, they’d been called by
the media. “We’ll analyze your strengths and weaknesses to make sure we want to
invest, but we don’t get to this phase without being fairly certain we do.”

“And you’ll complete a management
assessment, correct?”

“Yes.” This was Logan’s baby. “We’ll
evaluate your staff and see if there’s any overlap or duplication of effort
within the stores or in upper management.” There most likely would be layoffs,
which Holland had to know.

Once again, Magdalena admired her
colleague and friend for being able to handle the personnel task with emotional
aplomb. She was glad she didn’t have to do that part of the assessment, though
she’d be consulted.

After answering a few more
questions, Logan stood. “We’ll be in touch about our decision. Before that, if
we need anything else from you. One promise I can make is that we’ll be fair
and save as many jobs as we can.”

“Which is why I want to work with
your firm.” He stood and so did Magdalena.

She offered her hand first. “Thank
you for your time. I’m sure we can take that baby of yours to greater heights
than you could alone.”

“I hope so.”

“You won’t be sorry, Mr. Holland,”
Logan told him.

Together, they left the office and
soon stood on the streets of New York’s Financial District. Magdalena didn’t
live too far from here. Early January sported one of its sunny winter days, so
she and Logan stopped to talk. “He’s nervous,” she said, glancing back at the
building.

“All owners are when they want to
grow their business and go with private-equity investment. But Price wouldn’t
be pursuing the company if we didn’t think it was good for all of us.”

She squeezed his arm. “Of course we
wouldn’t. And I know you’re not crazy about the layoffs.”

Pointedly, he took a bead on her.
“Then why don’t you do this part?”

“Because you got your undergrad in
human resources. Mine’s in finance.” Checking her watch, she saw it was 1:00
p.m. “Want to get something to eat with me and Ana?”

“No thanks. I have a lunch date.”

Having
worked with him for seven years, Magdalena rolled her eyes. “I know what that
means. Shall I bring a sandwich back to the office for you?”

“I’ll have you know, Teresa and I
are eating this time. She has to be
at the theater early to go over some dances with the choreographer.” Logan
dated the current star of All of Me,
the hottest ticket on Broadway. Magdalena liked the woman, though from what he
said about her, she could be mercurial in her moods. Logan called it artistic
temperament.

“You’re good at finding time for other business,” she teased.

“Stop.” Though he liked a variety of
women in his life, Logan was good-hearted and never duped any of them into
thinking the relationship would last forever. He also didn’t give that heart of
his to anyone. Often, Magdalena wondered why.

They both crossed to the curb.
“Why’s Ana in town?”

Her older sister was the Dean of
Admissions at Mount Mary’s in Brooklyn and was often in the city for her job.
She still lived in the other borough, in the same house she once shared with
Jared the Jerk.

“A recruiting fair.”

“How is she, Mags? I know you worry
about her.”

“Because she’s bitter and still very
sad, even after more than two years. Why wouldn’t I worry?”

“It’s never what it appears on the
surface, why people break up.”

Because she loved Logan in many
ways, she listened to him. “You’re right. Have a good lunch.”

He hailed a cab and she took out her
phone. As she watched him get into the taxi, which always seemed to come right
away for him, she could see why women flocked to him. Six three, all muscles
with sky blue eyes, he was a stunner. For the hundredth time, she was grateful
she was immune to his charms. She much rather preferred to have him in her life
as a friend she could count on.

And she could. In every way.

oOo

Logan climbed into the cab and waved
good-bye to Magdalena. He was always shocked that cars didn’t crash into each
other when she was on the street. She had to be one of the most beautiful women
he’d ever known. That luscious hair in curls down to her waist. Those tawny
eyes. She was the picture of loveliness.

Who was not for him. There’d be too
much competition for her attention. And he’d never want to lose her as a
friend. Then there was the fact that they were colleagues. It would be
difficult to have romantic feelings for her. Turning his thoughts to Teresa
Allen, he smiled. Now, she was perfect for him, at this point in his life
anyway.

He saw her waiting outside the
theater. She waved to motion the cab over. When he exited, he embraced her. She
went willingly, fully and gave him a big kiss on the mouth. “Hello.”

“Hi, babe.” They walked to the
restaurant two doors down from the theater. Once inside, they sat and she
scanned the menu.

“Hungry?”
he asked.

“Always. Order some red meat so I
can have a slice.”

Because she was a dancer and singer
in addition to an actor, she was scrupulous about her diet. “Already had some
this week?”

“Once, my limit. But I’ll cheat with
a tiny slice.”

They
talked about the play and the changes they were making in the choreography. All
of Me had been a big hit, but the choreographer was noted for his
perfection. “Will you come to see it again?”

“Of course.”

The Way We Were (Ludzecky Sisters Series #4)by Kathryn ShayBlurb:
Ana Ludzecky had it all—a sexy husband, a beautiful daughter, her dream house and the best extended family in the world. Then, tragedy strikes them and her life turns upside down. Unable to bear the suffering of her sisters, she makes some bad choices that eventually lead to the dissolution of her marriage.

Dr. Jared Creswell, a professor at Mount Mary College, always believed he and Ana would last forever. He’s never loved anybody like he loved her. But a year after the tragedy, she’s still suffering because of the horrific events her family suffered. Jared weakens and makes the biggest mistake of his life.

When their daughter is stricken with a rare kidney disorder, both Ana and Jared must come together to see her through this difficult time. Will his and Ana’s past love be rekindled or have they put it out forever? You’ll root for these two who’ve been dealt a bad hand in life and are trying to find their second chance at love.

Available for purchase at

Excerpt

Valentine’s
Day

“The dinner was awesome, Daddy.”
Opal smiled at her father like she always did, as if he’d hung the moon.

“Did you know, Opalinski­”—his
Polish nickname for her—“that I made this meal for Mom the first Valentine’s
Day after you were born?” Opal had turned ten in October.

“How come you didn’t go out for
dinner?”

Ana steeled her heart against the
story and transferred her gaze to the family room, where a fire blazed in the
hearth and could be seen from the table in the kitchen. Jared had been living
here because Opal had to have surgery in a week and he’d insisted he be close
to her. Ana had nixed the idea of Opal at his house; instead, he’d moved into
the home they used to share. But it was harder than she imagined it would be.
These reminiscences were as difficult to listen to as much as rereading the
notes Jared, a literary man, had written to her all their lives together.

“We
had a babysitter all lined up—Aunt Magdalena. But when she got here, your
mother started to cry.” His expression, when he turned to Ana, was the one he
used to give her when he loved her. “She didn’t want to leave you on your first
Valentine’s Day. So I went out to the store, got ingredients for this dish, and
we ate at home.”

And, Ana thought, made sweet love
that night. Memories of how good they were together devastated her, so she
stood. “I’ll clean up.”

Jared’s gaze intensified. God, it
wasn’t fair that he looked better at thirty-nine than when she’d met him. He
had a touch of gray hair at his temples, but it made his eyes stand out like
emeralds, even when he wore his glasses. “Does that have to be done right
away?”

She pretended to inspect Opal. Both
her height and her slender frame mirrored Jared’s more than Ana’s. And now her
face was tense. “I think our daughter is tired.”

As
if the suggestion made it so, Opal’s shoulders sagged. “Yeah, I guess.” She bit
her lip. “I can’t wait till this is all over.”

Her rare kidney disorder made it
necessary to move the ureter from the top to the bottom of her kidney, which
would prevent the fluid buildup she was now suffering. Problem was, she’d lose
most of the function in that kidney.

“I know this has been hard for you,
honey.” Jared stood and kissed the top of her head. “How about if you get ready
for bed, and you and I read some?”

“Will you do all those voices in Huckleberry Finn?”

“I’d love to.”

Their daughter left the room, and
they heard her footsteps on the stairs. Ana crossed quickly to the sink with
dishes in her hands. She began rinsing them, but the gravity of Opal’s
situation hit her at the oddest times. Combined with Jared’s trip down memory
lane, emotion welled up and clogged her throat. Please don’t let me cry.

Unaware of her emotional state,
Jared began to clear the table. When he brought his and Opal’s plates to the
sink, he stopped. She knew her body had begun to shake.

“Annie.”
His pet name for her. He moved in close so his front, his heat touched her. His
hands went to her shoulders. “You don’t have to suffer alone. Please, let me
comfort you. Let’s comfort each other.”

Without her mind’s conscious consent,
she leaned back against him. She couldn’t help it. Because she did that, he
slid his arms around her waist and held her to him. His breath at her ear, he
said, “We can get through this together. I promise.”

Though she knew he’d made a lot of
promises he hadn’t kept, she let herself believe this one. She had to. She’d
expended all her strength on getting through the past two weeks since Opal’s
diagnosis.

Ana could hear that Opal didn’t
move. So she ducked out from in front of Jared and pasted a smile on her face.
“You look cute in those new jammies Aunt Mags gave you.” Red and black, they
had dogs on them.

“Yeah, to take to the hospital.”
Again, she bit her lip. Looked as if Ana wasn’t the only emotional one tonight.
Crossing to her daughter, she embraced her.

Ana
wished she could keep her child close, not turn her over to doctors who would
operate on her. But she couldn’t; she had to be strong. “I promise we’ll be
there for you, Opal. You’re not alone in this.”

“Daddy, too?” she asked in a
whisper.

Ana glanced at Jared. His face was
taut and he’d gone stiff. She could tell he was as worried as she. “Yes, Daddy,
too. I promise. We both promise.”

Handle with Care (Ludzecky Sisters Series #5)by Kathryn ShayBlurb:
Of all the Ludzecky sisters, Sofia is the calmest one. She’s had to be. Diagnosed with leukemia at sixteen, the disease has affected her entire life. When bad things have happened to her—her father’s death, her Secret Service sister and brother getting shot, the deaths of her brothers-in-law--Sofia has gone into herself and found the strength to help them out and also take care of herself. The easy going, laid back lifestyle suits her and she likes it. Her chosen profession is as a yoga instructor and owner of Serenity Yoga, which enhances this way of living.

Football Coach Max Walker doesn’t know what to make of this sweet, demure and pretty woman who is hired by his high school to teach yoga to students. But he’s part of the Physical Education department and has to deal with her every day. Soon he comes to learn how special she is, and though he steered clear of romance with another teacher, he’s drawn to her. But she shies away from him—big time. Why? Women usually flock to Max.

Little does he know that his outgoing personality, his rabid bent for competition and his boisterous athletic family upset her. Opposites attract is not true in her case. But Max wants her, and he’s always gotten what he wants.

Available for purchase at

Excerpt

Sofia calmed herself with rhythmic breathing and stared out
the window of Eastside High School’s faculty lounge. Snow covered the ground.
Many people hated the weather at this time of year, but not her. She treasured
every season’s dawn and end. When she was sixteen, she hadn’t thought she’d
experience very many of them again.

From behind, she heard, “Sofia?”

Max Walker had returned. She’d come to the school for a
meeting with him and the vice principal and encountered a fight they’d just
broken up in the hall. Since she and Max had to wait for the VP to deal with
the perpetrators, Max escorted her to the teachers’ cafeteria and detoured to
get her tea. The respite from his presence had allowed her to even out her
reaction to him. Now he was back.

Turning, she saw him there, this big jock who was probably
intimidating to most people. She herself was thrown by the impact of his
physicality and his machismo in, well, a feminine way. She nodded to the cup of
steaming water he set down. “Thanks.”

They sat and she fished some herbal tea out of her purse.

“Always carry that?” he asked, extending out his legs as if
his body required special accommodation most people didn’t need.

She, for example, perched on the chair, sat straight up,
spine long, neck relaxed. “I do. I have to be careful of what I eat.”

He tried to stifle the snort. “No Garbage Grub for you,
huh?”

At the mention of the fat-filled, bad-for-your-arteries
popular dish, she shuddered inwardly. “No, none.” And changed the subject.
“I’ve wondered how your staff is reacting to the yoga classes I’m teaching in
the fall. As head of the Physical Education Department, you’d know by now.”

“Mostly positive. The female PE teachers especially. One guy
is definitely not on board.”

“Let me guess, Mr. Cook.”

Dark brows rose. “How’d you know?”

“I was a student here and had him in class. He used to make
snide comments about boys taking Home Economics or whatever they call it now.”

“Family and Consumer Sciences. I didn’t know you went to Eastside.”

“I did.” Though a lot of what she remembered was her
illness. For her last two years, she’d struggled with the horror of trying to
do schoolwork and not give up because of the cruel anxiety and physical side
effects of the leukemia treatment. Thank God she’d found yoga after she’d had
to give up dance.

“Not a pleasant experience?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“Your face. It’s expressive.”

“Ah. I was sick, but I’d prefer not to talk about that, Mr.
Walker.”

The corners of his mouth turned up. His nice mouth.
“Max. We’re gonna be working together.”

“You’re the football coach here, too, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, and I hope to keep the job for a while.”

“Aren’t you good?”

He winked. “Darlin’, I’m great.”

She rolled her eyes. “I meant how’s the team doing?”

“We had a losing season last year. A bad one. Most of
the players on our winning teams graduated. It was like starting over. I’m
praying for success this year, but they have to be in the right mindset.”

“There are ways to help that along.”

“Sure, I know. The kids are lifting weights with me all
winter. And we have a football camp in the summer. Practice starts in August.”

“I didn’t mean your skill preparation or muscle building.”

“What did you mean?”

“Your players should do breathing exercises, centering meditations,
in addition to stretches and isometrics.”

He laughed out loud, and heads turned to look at him.
“That’s namby-pamby for us jocks, don’t you think?”

It was her turn to laugh—at him—though she was quieter about
it. “Seriously? You still use words like that? It’s the twenty-first century.”

He scowled. “Words like what?”

“Let’s see. Pansy. Sissy. Not to mention the more hurtful
ones that are feminist put-downs or gender-orientation slurs.”

She sighed. “I’m sorry we’re getting off on the wrong foot,
Max. All I was suggesting was that you and your team could be better if you did
yoga poses and breathing exercises. I was hoping some of the guys would sign up
for the fall session.”

“Ain’t gonna happen.”

“Obviously not, with you as a role model.”

He sat up straight and his fist clenched on the table.

Leaning in, she put her hand over it and felt the tension.
She was surprised he didn’t snatch it back. “Again, I apologize. We have a
difference of opinion on this. I won’t bring it up again.”

“Yeah, sure, that’d be okay.”

“On one condition.”

Now his gaze narrowed. “What?”

“Come to Serenity Yoga, my studio. Take a few classes. They
don’t have to be from me. But we’ll do it free of charge. If your experience
there doesn’t convince you that you’re not in as good shape as you think, I’ll
be silenced till the end of time.”

As soon as she touched him, Max went off-kilter. He stared
at their hands, her small one covering his big paw. Both strength and comfort
transferred from her to him. He couldn’t explain it. He raised his head. It was
a mistake. She wasn’t exactly pretty, though the long hair, hanging down her
back in a braid, was probably stunning spread across a guy’s pillow. In her
eyes, he saw…what the hell was that? Confidence. Security. Ah…peace. Which he
longed for all of a sudden.

“Max?”

“Sorry. You’re disturbing me.”

“I don’t mean to.”

“No, that’s okay. So, let’s go over this again. You want me
to take some yoga classes at the studio where you work. See if I think it can
help my players, what? Be better at football?”

“Yes, they wouldn’t be the first.”

Cocking his head, he watched her.

“You know who Ray Lewis, Victor Cruz and Vernon Davis are?”

“Yeah sure. They play for the Baltimore Ravens, the New York
Giants and the San Francisco 49ers.”

Approval in her eyes. Hell, he couldn’t believe he liked it.
Because he didn’t much like her.

“They all take or took yoga.”

“Seriously?” Though, even as he said the word, he remembered
reading something about that.

“LeBron James and Shaquille, too. They’re athletes who
turned to yoga to learn stretching, focus and body awareness.”

Max didn’t know what to say, so he shut his trap.

“The basketball coach from Duke did, too, and they recently
won a NCAA championship. When asked how he stayed so calm, he said it was
because he practiced yoga.”

Feeling at a disadvantage, he did what all guys do when put
on the spot. He went on defense. “You came prepared for this little game, Ms.
Ludzecky. I’m not in shape for the argument.”

“Sofia,” she said, mimicking his earlier reference to using
his first name. “And yes, I came prepared.”

Max watched her. Suddenly, he realized having her in his
department, even for a few classes a week, wasn’t going to be harmless like
he’d thought. And the notion bothered him a lot. He looked down. Shit! His knee
was bobbing again.

Love Story (Ludzecky Sisters Series #6)by Kathryn ShayBlurb:
Elizabeita Ludzecky is two different women: one the risk-taking, hip, wild child in the Ludzecky family. Her other side is the Rhodes Scholar and businesswoman who works at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The problem is she doesn’t know which is the real her. But what she does understand is the secret she carries inside her, and how it’s helped her survive a family fraught with tragedy.

Hardened cop Nick Casella decides to leave the NYPD because of his distaste for anti-police sentiment that developed after several high profile shootings were not prosecuted in the courts. But he’s asked to be part of a task force for the NYPD, an undercover unit specializing in unique crimes. He’s sent to the Met, ostensibly as a new employee do to set ups and other odd jobs. The famous museum has been besieged by odd emails, hackers and maybe even a stalker.

Nick works with Elizabeita when they put up a new exhibit and, at first, is not at all charmed by her winsomeness, her upbeat attitude about life or her sexy charisma. She’s a baby anyway, as he has more than a decade on her. But she’s getting the emails, too, and might be a victim, so he has to spend time with her. When she sets her sights on him, his first instinct is to run in the other direction. Soon, that changes dramatically. With secret and lies as the basis of a relationship, especially an older man/younger woman romance, does it have any chance of surviving?

Available for purchase at

Excerpt

Elizabeita
entered one of the conference rooms at the Metropolitan Museum of Art and took
a seat in the back. Most of the Contemporary Art staff had already gathered,
and she noticed a workman touching up some paint on the side wall. Its scent
was strong but not unpleasant

“How’s
everybody today?” Delores Martin, the head curator in charge of the division, asked.
In addition to Dee, three assistant curators, three collections managers, one
research associate and a variety of technicians completed their department.
Sometimes, Elizabeita had to pinch herself to believe she’d actually gotten an
assistant curatorship at this renowned museum three years ago.

Mumbles
of good or okay or tired abounded.
Elizabeita liked the people she worked with, including the two interns from the
School of Art in Manhattan.

After
some announcements, Delores zeroed in on her. “Elizabeita, I’ve got good news
for you.”

“Seriously?
We’re getting it?” She’d been working on bringing a touring exhibit of a
comparison between Dali and Picasso to the Met.

“Yes,
we are. A gallery in Chicago had to drop out because of a fire. We’ve gotten their
slot at the beginning of November.”

“Hallelujah!”
Success meant a lot to her.

“We
don’t have much time to prepare for this, but I’m sure it will sell out in
days. Publicity is already underway. You can expect the setup to begin as soon
as the Matisse exhibit ends and is broken down.”

“Great.
Will I still be going to the conference in California the week after next?”

“I
don’t see why not.” She transferred her gaze to the person next to Elizabeita. “Ellen,
about your project. We didn’t receive a grant we expected from the city. It’s
impossible to finance your exhibit before the end of the year.”

Also
an assistant curator, Ellen Pratt frowned. “But you said it was on track to be
accepted.”

They
covered other business, then Dee took off her glasses and leaned forward.
“We’ll end with something we need to discuss—the emails our department has been
getting.”

For
a while now, the staff at the Met had been receiving emails which consisted of
a line or two about modern art. The missives had gone from innocuous statements
about its lack of relevance, its nonsensical presentation to branding the style
as pagan, blasphemous and sacrilegious. After studying the history of art at
Oxford, Elizabeita knew about art fanatics.

“There
might be cause for concern,” Delores went on.

“Why?”
Ellen asked. “We have the best security of any art museum in the world here.
And Director Davidson is top-notch.”

“We
do. Physically.” The museum sported the requisite cameras, guards in every
room, motion sensors on each work of art, and vigilant overnight security. “But
we may need assistance in dealing with computer issues.”

The
collections manager offered, “These emails have been coming periodically for a
while now. Aren’t they just from some kook who doesn’t understand genius or
wants attention?”

“At
first, we thought so. Then the frequency increased. And the tenor of the
messages has become aggressive. Also, a few employees have noticed lurkers
around the quietest spaces in the museum. When security was called, they
vanished.”

“A
lot of people lurk in museums.” This from the research associate. “We call it
browsing.”

Elizabeita agreed about the lurkers. Her
favorite patron of the museum, a little old Polish man who took the train in
from Brooklyn every week, could be considered one. And he was as harmless as a
kitten.

“All
I can say is the director wants you to be on the lookout for anything unusual.
And be sure to send your emails to him as soon as you receive them so his team
can analyze the data.”

Elizabeita’s
gaze strayed to the man painting in the corner. He hadn’t gotten much done.
Right now, he was on his haunches doing something she couldn’t s­ee. It was unusual to have a workman in a room
during a staff meeting.

When
the group broke up, Elizabeita took out her phone. As she walked into the
hallway, she checked for messages. Three texts had come in, and she moved to
the side to read them. One from a professor she had taken classes from—and
more—who lived in London. One from Ana. Another from a guy she’d dated once and
didn’t plan to see again. She answered them and then pushed herself off the
wall. Right as the workman came out. They collided.

A
gallon can went flying. When it hit the wall, the top came off and beige paint
spattered everywhere. ““What the hell?” he muttered and whirled around. “You
ran into me.”

“I
wasn’t looking where I was going. I’m sorry.”

“Do
you have any idea how long that’s going to take me to clean up?”

She
frowned. “Quite a while.”

He
glanced back to the wall. “Damn it,” he said under his breath.

“Listen,
I can help you. It was my fault.”

“Damn
right it was.” He raked her up and down with a disgusted gaze. “Never mind. I
can’t see you mopping up paint in those heels and the suit.”

Hmm.
Must be he didn’t know who she was. Not a big shot at the museum, for sure, but
she’d started working here after she got her second degree in art and had
interned in galleries in London and Paris. She planned to climb the art ladder
fast. Now, at twenty-six, she was recommending exhibits and had gotten one
approved. She could, if she wanted to, get him in trouble.

Sofia
would kill her. Sweetie, she’d say. Be forgiving of people. You never know if
their cat died, if they were up all night at a second job, or if they’d lost
everything they’d worked for.

So
she backed up a few steps. “You’re right. I was only trying to help.” Stung,
she started to walk away.

And
heard behind her, “I could probably leave the paint on the wall, and people
would think it was just another piece of that damned modern art.”

Hmm.
He had a sense of humor. Who would have guessed?

About the Author

A NEW YORK TIMES bestselling author, Kathryn Shay has been a lifelong writer and teacher. She has written dozens of self-published original romance titles, print books with the Berkley Publishing Group and Harlequin Enterprises and mainstream women’s fiction with Bold Strokes Books. She has won five RT Book Reviews awards, four Golden Quills, four Holt Medallions, the Bookseller’s Best Award, Foreword Magazine’s Book of the Year and several “Starred Reviews.” Her novels have been serialized in COSMOPOLITAN magazine and featured in USA TODAY, THE WALL STREET JOURNAL and PEOPLE magazine. There are over five million copies of her books in print, along with hundreds of thousands downloaded online. Reviewers have call her work “emotional and heart-wrenching.”